


Dressing Down

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clothes make the man, and the spy.  A Fantasy prompt from Laurose8 on Section VII at LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressing Down

A dazzling array of the city’s finest folk were shamelessly on display at the opening of a small but important art gallery.  In spite of the new Mod garb favored by some, this crowd tended to more traditional, decidedly glamorous fashion.  Swinging London still had a ways to go in order to overtake New York when it came to good old fashioned (pardon the pun), couture.

 

Among the well dressed and seasonably blond was a young man of slight build and haughty demeanor.  He fit this crowd better than he would have liked, met their criteria for beauty and disdain with painstaking accuracy.  Illya Kuryakin would gladly have traded places with his partner, and in most cases it would have been Solo in the elegant tuxedo rather than the disapproving Russian. 

Kuryakin glided into the gallery with one eye on the crowd and another on the object of this mission.  The small painting he sought was hanging to the left amidst a display of laundry detergent boxes; they were stacked into a pyramid and mottled with paint a la Jackson Pollock.  At the top of the stack a red and blue orb was painted against a vivid yellow ochre background, punctuated by splashes of various colors. 

Illya casually made his way to the display, waiting for the disturbance that would allow him to lift the painting and complete his task.  At just the moment he was closing in on his target there was a commotion at the front of the gallery. 

Napoleon. 

He was barely recognizable as the suave agent who normally did duty as well-dressed and elegant.  Tonight he was a bum, and the distraction caused by his presence in this exclusive gathering had set security guards to action, thankfully leaving the painting that Illya intended to steal completely unguarded. 

Napoleon was yelling and thrashing his arms about, something to do with painting the planet when so many starving children could benefit from the money being spent on senseless art... psuedo art is what he called it.  Napoleon figured he might as well state his case while he was at it.  No matter he had his own modern statement hanging in his office; this was about the mission, and he could go on and on... 

Illya had the painting in one swift movement.  He quickly placed it beneath his jacket, slipping it into the back of his cumberbun and out of sight.  As he made his way towards the entrance he made eye contact with his partner, and in doing so conveyed a signal that the job was done. 

Napoleon let Kuryakin make his way safely out of the gallery and then, with a grand gesture he bade his farewell and sprinted out to the street and away from the gawking crowd.  He ran the distance to the waiting car, ducking into the passenger seat and the cool art thief he called Partner. 

“So, we can add something new to your resume I see.  Have you checked it for the microdot?”  Napoleon would be glad when he could get out of this ridiculous outfit.  He’d better learn the fine art of thievery if being the honest partner was going to include more get ups like this one. 

“I believe it is here, in this little...’ a practiced gesture lifted something from  a chartreuse blob on the small canvas. “Ah yes... just as promised.” 

Both men grinned, from satisfaction and relief.  It wasn’t exactly a dangerous crowd, but it was still much better to have accomplished this little gambit without any gunplay or confrontations. 

“Very well, I suggest we get ourselves back to Headquarters.  I definitely want to change out of these clothes.’  Solo shot a look at his partner; the Russian certainly fit the role tonight. 

“I suppose you’re eager to get out of that monkey suit, eh?”  Illya smiled, not agreeing, just ... a smile. 

“Actually, I have a date tonight... midnight supper, if you will.  I suppose this will do nicely.”  Napoleon was a bit surprised, perhaps a little disappointed that it was Illya making plans to go out dressed to the nines. 

“Well, well well... aren’t you a sneaky Russian.”  Watch it Solo, there was an almost palpable sense of pride in how Illya had managed this.  It was almost...

 “Yes, well I have learned a few things from my partner.  By the way, my date has a friend, and we wondered...”  Napoleon was grinning now, and lucky for all involved, he had a spare tux in his office. 

“Yes, well of course if it will help you out.  I’d be delighted. 

Midnight suppers, stolen artwork... It just proved that clothes really do make the man.


End file.
